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Chapter Text

The habitation suite’s door opened almost immediately after he knocked.

“Ambulon! What can I do for you?” Drift’s field exuded surprise and cheerfulness.

It was the lack of any trace of hostility that Ambulon found most encouraging. “I thought about your offer,” he said, doing his best to project confidence, “and yes, I’d like your help in calming techniques, if that’s all right.”

“That’s great!” It was hard to reconcile what he knew of Deadlock with the bouncy mech ushering him into a hab suite that smelled of incense and had a handful of crystals clustered upon every surface. “Here, take a seat on that mat over there.” Drift’s hand on his shoulder was gentle but firm as he nudged Ambulon toward his destination. “Can I get you some fuel? There’s this low-grade blend I like to drink before meditation to relax—the additives are just for taste, of course, nothing that actually affects the mind…”

Come to think of it, Ambulon hadn’t refueled today. The attack he’d had in the medibay earlier had apparently unsettled him enough to start forgetting basic needs. Oops. Good thing he’d caught it before Ratchet noticed. “Yes, please.”

Drift sank down to sit on the floor in front of him, pressing the cube into his hands. Ambulon sipped at it cautiously. The flavor was a bit too sweet, but it was smooth and warm on his glossa. He could see why Drift had called it relaxing.

After a minute of waiting for Ambulon to finish, Drift spoke. “Listen, I know you’re here to learn meditation, but just so you know, you’re welcome to talk to me if you need it, too.”

“I—thanks.” Ambulon reset his optics before tentatively adding, “I might take you up on that. Maybe. Later.” He set down the empty cube and shuffled his legs, trying to mimic Drift’s. “How do I…?”

“Here, I’ll help you. You’re not as flexible as I am, so…” Heat flooded Ambulon’s systems as Drift fixed his position and paused to glance up at him, hands still on his shins. “Is this all right?”

“Fine,” Ambulon mumbled, staring into the brightest blue optics he had ever seen.

Chapter Text

Drift had only a short time before Rodimus would call the crew together, and he would use it to settle up his affairs as best he could. First, and most importantly, he was needed in the medibay.

Ambulon met him at the door, welder in hand. Drift waved it off. “I've been seen to. What about you? That MARB stunt I heard about—”

“Barely a scratch, and that's a pre-existing condition for me anyway.” Ambulon’s dry humor never failed to get a smile from Drift.

“Good.” He took Ambulon’s welder and set it aside before grasping one of his hands tightly.

Yellow optics brightened. “What are you doing?”

“I want to remind you,” Drift murmured, “that you're not alone. That you have friends—not just me—and you have a life here. That you're cared for. So stay safe."

“Drift…”

He set his free hand on the side of Ambulon’s helm. “Look after Ratchet for me.”

Ambulon’s tightly-wound EM field flared in distress. “Drift, what—” His question was cut off by Drift’s mouth over his.

“Take care,” he whispered as they pulled apart.

Drift left without looking back. Ambulon would be fine. They all would be fine.

They needed Rodimus more than they needed Drift.

Chapter Text

After Luna One, Ambulon dreamed of Drift’s departure. Every time, he watched his friend leave without a word of explanation. He had been too busy in the medibay to join the assembly, and once the Legislators showed up… no one was thinking about Drift. Weeks later, when he onlined to First Aid's anxious face, it was the first thing he asked about. But his Amica just changed the subject.

Ambulon didn’t give up, despite fruitless interrogation after fruitless interrogation. His medibay wardens wouldn’t tell him anything. They claimed it was for his health to not get worked up, but smelt him if he wasn’t already raring at their evasions.

Ratchet’s reaction to his questions made it clear that something was up, but it took the older medic a full week to give in and tell him everything from Overlord to Rodimus’ confession. Needless to say, Ambulon didn't take it well.

“That was why he left? Because he—and Rodimus just let him take the fall?”

“It's as bad as it sounds.” Ratchet gave the wheelchair an experimental nudge.

Ambulon paused in his rant to eye the contraption distrustfully. “I'm not wheeling myself around in that thing.”

“‘Course not. Until you have the right motor control back, you'll have to have someone else push you.”

“What.” First Aid's mentor—his mentor, too, not just his boss—met his horror with an even stare.

“You won't be able to walk for another week if those sensors continue reconnecting at the same pace. Thus the chair, unless you'd rather stay in the medibay for the rest of your recovery.”

“Primus, no!” Ambulon recoiled. “Fine. I've got to get mobile as soon as possible if I'm going to bring him back.”

Ratchet blinked. “You what?”

“No one's gone after Drift yet, have they? It's disgusting. When Rodimus pardoned him, there should have been a search party. He's the third in command, for Primus’ sake.” Instead of calming him, Ratchet’s hand on his shoulder angered him further. “Pit, you should be out there by now. You and Rodimus are his closest—whatevers—on board. I can understand Rodimus being afraid to face him, but you? You're the most fragging stubborn mech I know! You should have gone after him the moment the truth came out!”

Ratchet's interruption was harshly voiced. “And leave behind one apprentice half-dead and the other hardly able to keep it together through the surgery? Kid, you barely made it. By all logic, you shouldn't have. Like Pit I was going to ditch the two of you at a time like that.” Ambulon's optics burned. His vents labored under stress. Ratchet took hold of his other shoulder as well, leaning over to meet his gaze. “I’m as angry as you. But Drift can take care of himself in the meantime.”

“He shouldn't have to,” Ambulon muttered. His plating felt too tight. His vocalizer spat static. “We have to go get him, sir—Ratchet. We can't leave him wandering.”

Ratchet stood back up abruptly. “You're right about that. I'll let First Aid handle the rest of this. Can't leave without him knowing after all he's been through. You be good to him. Kid made miracles for you.”

Ambulon froze. “You can't go without me!”

“You were just saying that I should have—”

“That was before I was awake!” He latched onto Ratchet's hands as the older mech drew away. “Drift told me to look after you,” he said, his voice reduced to a hoarse whisper after all the yelling.

Ratchet eyed him in amused disbelief. “Between you and me, I'm not the one who needs looking after.”

“Frag that. I'm going with you.”

“You are so out of your processor on painkillers.” Ratchet flared his field in frustration, vented, and evened it back out. “Let's make a deal, kid. You follow every single instruction from me and First Aid, get on track to recovery, and I'll track Drift down remotely best I can. Soon as I've got a solid lead, we'll take a shuttle to get him—but.” He waved his finger in Ambulon’s face. “You don't leave that chair the whole trip except to recharge, no matter how ‘recovered’ you feel. I know how you young idiots are: you'll want to jump him the moment we find him, and you’ll undo all this repair work.”

Ambulon protested the only thing he could out of that assertion. “Drift is the same age as you.”

Ratchet groaned. “Sure, but all that wobbly mumbo-jumbo keeps him young.”

With resolution in sight, the fear and rage weighing Ambulon down began to lift. He cracked the tiniest smile. “Maybe you should ask for some tips.”

The look on Ratchet's face alone was worth getting smacked upside the head. Drift was right. Ambulon did have friends here. But so did Drift, and they wanted him back.

Chapter Text

Today was a day of surprises, for sure. First, that organic he saved had turned out to be not-so organic and not-so in need of saving. Then he'd been cornered by a pack of that Pretender’s buddies who hadn't gotten the message about the war ending, which was less surprising than disappointing.

And then the last person he’d expected to see out here had walked out of a spare parts store nearby and joined the fray.

Now Drift stood in the center of a circle of KO’d Decepticons while Ratchet lectured him on self-neglect and recklessness. That was when the shock finally registered.

Drift seized Ratchet by the shoulders. “What are you doing here?”

The medic didn't even look up from a rent in Drift's leg plating. “Picking you up. Your moronic self-inflicted exile is over.” He fastened a strip of static bandage over the wound. “I've got a full medkit on the shuttle. Come on.” The tone of his voice left no room for arguing.

Bemused, Drift followed him out of the alley and to the outskirts of town where one of the Lost Light’s shuttles awaited them. At the sight of it, he nearly turned and ran. Not ready—not worthy—

Ratchet grabbed his arm. “I've got someone waiting for you, kid. Go on.” He maneuvered Drift onboard and into the cockpit.

A familiar outline was sitting in the pilot seat. Drift froze. Not ready—not worthy— “Ambulon?”

Ambulon turned his chair around. Something was off about his frame, the paint pattern interrupted by fresher spots in a straight trail down the center.

Drift approached him slowly, incapable of rushing. The air he moved through felt like it had the consistency of tar.

Ambulon made as if to stand, but Ratchet made a sharp coughing noise. He settled down again. His eyes followed Drift's every step. “Hi.” He smiled, and the motion made his face look… puckered, just a little, in line with the paint lines on his chassis. “I'd get up, but…”

Drift reached him. This close, he could see a weld line that reached from the top of Ambulon’s helm to his modesty panel without stopping. Questions swarmed his mind, but he settled for the most immediate and least likely to get a troubling answer.

“Are you alright?” He thought better of touching the scar, but his hand hovered just over the section crossing Ambulon’s chestplates.

“More or less.” Ambulon lifted his arms with visible effort and wrapped them around Drift’s waist. “It's a Pit of a story, though.”

Drift couldn't bring himself to ask it now, so he changed the subject. “Why did you both come for me?” A terrible thought occurred to him. “Is Rodimus—?”

“He's fine,” Ratchet harrumphed. “He told everyone the truth about Overlord, and then he held a shipwide vote. It was close, but he’s still captain.” He gestured to Ambulon, who had his face pressed against Drift’s midsection and seemed content to stay that way. “This idiot—” One spottily-painted hand laboriously formed a crude sign pointed at Ratchet. “—woke up a few weeks ago and wouldn't leave well enough alone till I agreed to help him come get you.”

“You would have done it eventually,” Ambulon muttered. “I just sped up the process.”

“Credit where credit is due, kid.” Ratchet made eye contact with Drift. “Way I see it, it's thanks to him we didn't end up in any sticky spots trying to find you.”

“Is that so?”

Ambulon huffed, sounding rather like a softer copy of Ratchet. “Only because he wouldn't take me into any potentially dangerous situations in my condition.”

Drift laughed. “So you did look after him for me!”

“‘S right. Getting sawed in half was all part of my brilliant plan to keep Ratchet out of trouble.”

Drift still really didn't want to know the story, but he’d have to get it later. For now, he focused on Ambulon. Beautiful, brave Ambulon. He cupped his dear friend’s face in his hands and pressed a kiss to the top of his helm. “Thank you.”